The Pen Can Be a Snapshot Into The Mind
by luvtheheaven
Summary: A sixteen-year-old, pregnant Lorelai writes a poem. A high-school-aged Jess writes a short story to pass some time. Paris writes a letter to her Nanny while away in DC for the summer between seasons 2 and 3. Lane reacts to her break-up with Dave in early season 4 by writing a song.
1. Silver Lining (Lorelai's poem)

_**Author's note:**_

Hey guys, luvtheheaven speaking! I was paired with cantarina for 2016's Pod Together challenge. Pod Together is a collaboration between fanfiction writers and podficcers (Feel free to Google the word "podfic" and the phrase "pod together" to find out more info) and she awesomely nudged me in the direction of writing this collection of writings that the characters themselves would've written. If it wasn't for her I likely would've written something very different for the challenge. She had internet and posting issues, so a pinch-hitter podficcer was found. Thank you SO much for your awesome, fast work, DuendeVerde4.

Both podfic versions are great in their own ways and quite different so check them out! Download and streaming options are on my same posting of this fic on Archive of Our Own. (Googling "Archive Gilmore Girls Pen Snapshot Mind" would probably do the trick. ;) )

I really love cantarina's version of chapter 1 with Lorelai's voice and the way the poetry sounds, and I really love DuendeVerde4's fire crackling special effects behind Jess' short story in her version of chapter 2. To listen to both would take you about half an hour.

cantarina's podficcer note was: "luvtheheaven and I matched on a lot of things, including non-traditional format. That's the short version of how we ended up at epistolary fic! She's been a super generous partner to work with through a particularly busy and stressful patch of my life and almost a week now without real home internet. At the time of posting I still haven't heard Duende's version of the work but I'm super stoked (and you should be too!) They made at least one major choice I didn't - aside from compiling the words into an anthology, whereas I've posted each chapter's recording with each chapter - and I can't wait to see how it changes the texture of the pieces."

You may read the story too, if you would like. While listening, of course instead of listening, whatever floats your boat. I highly recommend you listen though since both podficcers worked so hard on my story! The first chapter is below.

* * *

 _Imagine the English teacher's reaction when, in 1984, he received this poem from the only girl in his class who happened to be six months pregnant. Everyone in his class had been assigned to write poems. This one was titled_ _ **Silver Lining**_ _._

 **Silver Lining**

Under my covers, awake last night  
I suppressed laughter with all my might  
For what my mother must announce  
will surely amuse all the debutantes

I came out in my own way  
out of my childhood, many would say  
The world sees that as my body widens  
But I feel it with each kick, like swelling violins

Violins don't only play sad melodies  
Those notes can evoke beautiful destines  
And of course it is scary, but dare I also think  
that two lifetimes of happiness may be on my brink?

Two lifetimes, of course, being mine and hers  
free from the restraints of maids and chauffeurs  
Luke Skywalker had nothing but he still found The Force  
and I refuse to regret having had intercourse

We may have been drunken, but it was no mistake  
Beautiful and purposeful love we did make  
I felt adult and alive, empowered and free  
Rather than escaping, we were embracing reality

Under my covers, drifting off last night  
My thoughts turned to dreams I myself write  
Often pregnancy is painful, and it may be poor timing  
But this little girl is quite the silver lining

People expect me to feel only dismay  
Grief and loss at my future, their sad eyes clearly say  
They have no imagination, so I pity them in return  
I had options yet chose this; they have a lot to learn

Already my heart fills with love for this child  
To think this a welcome adventure can't be that wild  
She's the catalyst I didn't realize I needed  
Believe it or not, my life will go on, unimpeded.


	2. Jess's short story

_Jess Mariano liked to write short stories in class, because he was less likely to get in trouble if the teachers thought he was taking notes. Less likely to get in trouble than if he blatantly ignored the teacher by simply reading an unrelated book while he or she spoke at the front of the room._

 _Sometimes, for a more convincing ruse, he would glance up at the chalkboard once every few minutes. This fake-out, of course, only worked if he was sitting all the way in the back. No classmates could be near enough him to know what the words covering the notebook pages_ _ **really**_ _were. If they knew, they'd probably tattle and ruin the whole thing. But Jess was smart, and he had figured out how to "get away with" not-paying-an-ounce-of-attention._

 _The following is one of those stories. It was written during Chemistry class, in the January of his junior year of high school, not long after his first Christmas spent with his uncle._

* * *

A ten-year-old looked on as a large fire engulfed a building. A passerby never would have guessed that this young boy resided within one of its apartments – never would consider the possibility that the child's mind wasn't merely on the flames and smoke. The boy's gaze pierced further than was physically possible, mentally focusing on exactly what was burning inside. His expression conveyed more curiosity than concern. The average person would probably find that concerning if they knew his truth – and isn't that, itself, curious?

Kids can't really prepare for death, destruction, and their life as they knew it literally burning away into ash. Can adults even manage to emotionally prepare for any of it? And many kids, such as this particular boy, can only comprehend what is happening intellectually if they _wait_ to feel their emotions. Therefore, that is what this boy did. In the moment, he simply took in the scene.

Firefighters were already attempting to control the situation, and more sirens were approaching as well. The boy was standing alone, a safe distance away with a clear view. There were no passerbys who might judge him. There was no one.

His name was Gabriel, but only his mother called him that. Isn't it usually family members who call someone by their full name and not their chosen nickname? Who decide someone else's name _for_ them? He didn't have any family other than his mom – at least not immediate family. His father was dead to him, his mom's parents were _literally_ dead, her brother lived over two hours away, and she barely spoke of cousins or other extended family. (Gabe didn't know a single thing about his dad's extended family.)

The only person who called him Gabriel was, in all likelihood, in that building. She had, in all likelihood, caused the fire. The boy thought back to all the times his mom had uttered the phrase, "if something happens to me." What a ridiculously vague euphemism that is. If she'd meant "if I die", she really should've said that.

His mom had been in the habit of burning so much incense it had turned into a viable substitute for electrical heating. She purchased so much of it that it had been severely eating into their budget for food. She was also in the habit of drinking so much that he wasn't even sure a fire would wake her up. She worked at night, but drank all day. And this kid had been walking home from school when he'd first noticed the sirens and the smoke. The daylight was still bright in the smoke.

As Gabe stared at the dancing flames and the powerful streams of water jetting out of hoses… he wondered if the fire would be ruled arson? A tragic accident? He wondered if they'd manage to save his mother.

Just then, a hand grasped his shoulder and he turned around to see who was touching him.

"Gabriel! What are you doing?" the woman asked. The paper bag in her other hand was the size and shape that typically held a wine bottle.

He probably should've felt relieved that his mother was standing there, that she hadn't been home, that she'd been out at a store.

Gabe wriggled out of her grasp and non-verbally answered her question by pointing, numbly, at the flames.


	3. Paris's letter home (to her nanny)

_At the beginning of Paris's six weeks at the Junior Leadership program, Paris received a piece of mail from her nanny, and after reading it, immediately decided to write a reply. She had quite a bit to say and was excited to share about her experiences._

* * *

Thursday June 12, 2002

Cara Soledad,

Thank you for your kind sentiments, and for sending it so soon after I departed from Connecticut. I know I will, indeed, "make the most of" this trip down here to Washington DC.

I'm writing this letter in English rather than Português because, of course, I wish to respect your request at the end of yours. I commend your effort to learn how to read more English, and I also know Luiz will help you decipher the text if necessary – if he's reading this now, by the way, then Happy 15th Birthday!

On the topic of language, did you know that shopping malls are a much newer use of the term "Mall" in English? My etymology research led me to the fact that the National Mall is based on a place in London called "The Mall", which itself was based on the fact that an old sport, "Pall Mall" (basically "mallet ball") was played there. Interestingly here in DC they also colloquially call this national park "the Mall".

Personally, I wasn't impressed by the famous Sculpture Garden at the National Museum of Art, but then again, I'm not sure art in any form will ever properly capture my interest, the way it does people like – well, Rory. I hope you get a chance to meet her sometime. She has been a surprisingly quiet and clean roommate. I do not mind sharing my dorm with her despite having never had to share a room with anyone before.

I was, however, quite impressed by the National Museum of American History, and it got me in the proper mood for meeting a few of our nation's congressmen. Unfortunately, I have not had the opportunity to meet a congresswoman yet. My aspirations are still fairly set on Cancer Research; however, the more I meet these lawyers who became politicians, and the more I settle into my role as president of Chilton's student council… well the more I realize I may want to reconsider my future career. Some of the fellow students in his junior leadership program have complimented my personality as intense and intimidating, which I know are qualities needed here in Washington if any progress is really to be made. So many bills never get passed, or even properly proposed, because of incompetence on a scale larger than I had realized before my time here began.

It's still only been four days here, so I am still getting used to the metro here, but it feels easier to master than New York City's subway system. It also makes me with Hartford had more than the most basic Commuter Rail. Apparently I'm here with good timing, as all the posters and signs around the stations advertise that their five-line system was finally fully completed last year, the entire original plan realized a full ten years after they started. I feel confident no one will mistake me for a tourist by the start of next week.

My favorite part of the official program thus far was today's Speech Writing seminar. Forensics Club, of course, taught me most of the skills I'd need for powerful speaking – another reason I might make a good lawyer, I now realize – but no one ever taught me how to write actual speeches. Thus far, Chilton's English classes only covered writing essays and things other people would read. When writing to be heard, rather than read, there is a different skill set, and I wish I could've attended this Junior Leadership Program prior to my campaign for Student Council President. I taught myself enough, clearly, as I did succeed in being elected. However, many of the experts they brought in to speak with us have now taught me more. I am eager to find out what else I might learn over the course of the coming weeks.

Please let me know how life back home has been. Have you decided yet on your plans for July 4th weekend? I'll await your next letter.

Sincerely,  
Paris


	4. No Touch, No Fireworks!(song Lane wrote)

_Lane Kim never kept a diary. She kept hidden CDs and a hidden life, but never a traditional diary. Just writing about her life? Nah. That wasn't for her. She got all her feelings out when she spoke to Rory. She didn't need to tell a piece of paper in a little book._

 _But then… Rory went off to Yale, and Dave went off to college too, all the way across the country, and she started to feel a bit more lonely. Not long after the marriage jug incident, she experienced her first real break up. Dave wasn't going to be coming back into the picture of her life. Frustratingly, she had no one to talk to about it, since her calls to Rory that day kept going to voicemail..._

 _And well, that's how "No touch? No fireworks!" ended up getting written._

* * *

" **No touch? No fireworks!"**

 _ **Verse 1:**_

Dear Dave,  
How is Cali?  
Bet you thought our finale  
would be the last you'd hear  
of my drums in your ears

But listen to this now:  
Curtain call means a bow.  
Before I let you go  
blare this in stereo!

 _ **Chorus:**_

We saw the end approach, and so we made the most  
Of the end of teenage youth – we tried to deny the truth

Long distance never works! No touch? No fireworks!

 _ **Verse 2:**_

I won't cry over you,  
because I've cried before  
over a mistake made.  
A boy I didn't know!

The Cure's melancholy  
helped me mourn fantasy  
He never knew my name  
It's not even a shame

 _ **Chorus:**_

We saw the end approach, and so we made the most  
Of the end of teenage youth – we tried to deny the truth

Long distance never works! No touch? No fireworks!

 _ **Verse 3:**_

The next guy cost more tears  
I blame girlish young fears  
Became stronger and wise  
Then third guy's the charm: surprise!

Into my life like "bam"  
Soon you knew who I am  
I had never been kissed  
They should all get the gist

Bridge:

Oh I joined your cover band, put my face into your hands  
Yes as soon as you arrived, my whole body came alive  
My heart, mind, and soul too… But you do what you do  
School only out for summer  
And oh isn't that the biggest bummer

 _ **Chorus:**_

We saw the end approach, and so we made the most  
Of the end of teenage youth – we tried to deny the truth

Long distance never works! No touch? No fireworks!


End file.
